


That Sam and That Dean

by silentdescant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s10e05 Fan Fiction, Established Relationship, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t,” Dean interrupts quickly. “Not yet, okay?”</p><p>“What not yet?”</p><p>“I know you want to… talk,” Dean says, awkwardly emphasizing the dreaded T-word, “but can it at least wait until we’re in the room?”</p><p>Sam doesn’t want to argue, so he holds up his hands in defeat and shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, fine. I’ll get the room, you get the bags.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Sam and That Dean

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist writing a little Sam/Dean tag after the 200th episode tonight. I'm so proud of the show, and I'm really satisfied and happy with that episode.

They don’t speak until they reach a motel for the night, about halfway between the girls’ school and the bunker. Sam breaks the silence as Dean pulls the car into the parking lot.

“Listen, Dean—”

“Don’t,” Dean interrupts quickly. “Not yet, okay?”

“What not yet?”

“I know you want to… talk,” Dean says, awkwardly emphasizing the dreaded T-word, “but can it at least wait until we’re in the room?”

Sam doesn’t want to argue, so he holds up his hands in defeat and shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, fine. I’ll get the room, you get the bags.”

Ten minutes later, they’re each claiming a bed in their motel room, which has brown carpets and bright orange duvets on the beds. Sam feels like he just stepped into a Thanksgiving decoration store. Dean doesn’t seem to care, just busies himself with digging through his bag for his toiletry kit. He escapes to the bathroom for a shower before Sam can stop him.

This case was a weird one, there’s no doubt about it, but Sam is really satisfied. He realizes with a start that nobody even died except the monster and her pet. All of the missing “victims” were returned, safe and sound—Sam included.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing only his boxers and a clean t-shirt, Sam says as much: “You realize we saved everybody this time.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks.

“Nobody died,” Sam replies. “The teacher, the girl, me… we were all fine. This one’s a definite win, don’t you think?”

Dean looks down at his duffel and spends way too long nestling his toiletry kit back inside. Usually he just tosses things in, unfolded and careless. “Yeah, if you can call that garbage a win,” he says quietly.

“Dean.”

“What? It wasn’t our lives. It wasn’t even close.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “It was pretty damn close, Dean. Up until the apocalypse, that is.”

“But there was all the…” Dean makes a vague, wiggly gesture with one hand; the motion is accompanied by a disgusted expression. “Subtext,” he finishes weakly.

Sam crosses the room and positions himself behind Dean, who is still steadfastly staring down at his duffel. It’s a pointless excuse to avoid Sam’s eyes, and he’s not even pretending otherwise anymore, now that the toiletry bag is stowed away. Sam slides his hands around Dean’s waist, linking his fingers together over Dean’s firm, flat stomach, and presses his lips to the back of Dean’s ear.

“Why do you think Chuck wrote all that subtext, huh, Dean?”

“I don’t like people knowing,” Dean mutters. He isn’t sinking backward into Sam’s arms, not yet, but he will.

“They don’t know,” Sam assures him. “Dean, they think it’s all made up. They didn’t even buy it that we were real, and I think we gave them some pretty irrefutable evidence, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

Sam unlaces his fingers and turns Dean around, so they’re facing each other. In this position, with Sam already standing so close to Dean, their noses almost touch.

“Listen, Dean, nobody knows.”

“Except Chuck.”

“Well, except him, but he’s dead. Or… ascended, or whatever. Just because these girls were playing out their fantasies—”

“Oh, so incest is a fantasy now?” Dean snaps. “That’s great, Sammy. Just what this world needs, more people who think fucking your brother is a-okay.”

“Dean, stop.”

“Come on, Sam. This isn’t right.”

“Dean!” Sam grabs Dean’s shoulders and squeezes, right at the tender spot around the side of his neck. It makes Dean flinch and finally meet Sam’s eyes, but Sam can see continued protests about to spill forth.

He reaches around Dean to shove the duffel out of the way, then pushes Dean down on the bed. He sits with a surprised sort of bounce and keeps staring up at Sam.

“Weren’t you paying attention to the play at all?” Sam asks softly. “Didn’t you see how that Sam and Dean—how that Sam loved that Dean?”

“Sammy—”

“No, shut up for a minute. You were right, in the car. I do want to talk about this. Because I think we don’t say it enough. I mean, I know we don’t say it enough, considering you’re still so wrapped up in this… whatever this is, this denial or fear or whatever.”

“I ain’t scared of you!”

“Not _of_ me, Dean,” Sam snaps. “Of _being with_ me.”

Dean’s eyes cut down and to the side, but he tries to distract from it with a wave of his hand. He continues to the motion up and scratches the back of his neck, which he does when he’s feeling uncomfortable or embarrassed, so Sam softens his voice.

“You remember, in the play, how that Sam sang about that Dean? How I think you’re amazing and heroic and… Dean, I fucking idolized you as a kid. And I never really grew out of it.”

“Sam—”

Sam slaps his hand over Dean’s mouth to shut him up. “I love you, Dean. I know I don’t say it enough—neither of us do—but it’s true. It’s a fact. You can’t argue it away. You’re my brother and I love you.”

“You can love me without… fucking me,” Dean points out as Sam takes his hand away.

“Well, I don’t want to. I like fucking you. Seriously, Dean, I wouldn’t trade our relationship for the world. You have to know that.”

Dean shrugs. “I guess.”

Sam stares at him for another moment, waiting to see if he’ll say something else. When he doesn’t, Sam says, “I’m gonna shower. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” If Dean wants to fuck, Sam can give him some time to get his head right about it, and if he doesn’t, well, he has time to practice his excuse.

Sam never needs Dean’s excuses, but Dean has a thing about giving them, some kind of emotional block that prevents him from just saying out loud that he’s too skeeved out by the incest thing to have sex. So instead, Dean tells Sam he’s too tired, he’s too hurt or sore, they have an early morning, they need to hit the road, they need to get started on research. All of them are plausible and none of them are true.

But Sam doesn’t care; he lets Dean say whatever he needs to say, because the times when Dean doesn’t need an excuse are the best nights of Sam’s life. It hasn’t actually happened all that often; they’ve fought too much, been driven apart too many times by external forces or their own stupid choices. These days, Sam feels their relationship is pretty solid, as brothers and as something more. Being with Dean, really being with him, feels like coming home after a long time away, and he’s looking forward to more of that now that Dean’s back to his old self again.

Sam finishes up in the shower and leaves the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He finds Dean reclining on the bed Sam claimed, reading a book and dressed only in his boxers, his shirt folded and lying atop his duffel. These are good signs; Dean doesn’t sleep shirtless, and the fact that he’s in Sam’s bed is a definite hint.

Dean puts aside the book as Sam drops his towel and crawls up on the bed. He spreads his legs a bit so Sam can move between them, rest his hands on Dean’s raised knees, and lean close.

“I’m sorry I was a dick,” Dean says quietly. His eyes are soft and he returns Sam’s gaze easily, his earlier awkwardness completely disappeared. He must’ve run through a pro/con list while Sam was in the shower, because he seems at peace with their relationship. At least for the moment.

“It’s okay,” Sam assures him, because it honestly is. Dean has more issues than most, and Sam gets that he has some very understandable hang-ups. Sam has some of his own, but fortunately for him, his don’t often keep him from being intimate with his brother.

“It’s just that you’re my kid brother,” Dean says with a sheepish grin.

Sam smiles. “I know it’s weird,” he says. “But when have we ever been normal? Dean, we’re adults now. It doesn’t matter what anyone says, or what people think, because they don’t know anything about us.”

“I’d say Marie knows a fair amount,” Dean grumbles.

“Not about the real us.”

“Yeah.”

Sam leans forward, closing the distance between their mouths. He leaves one hand on Dean’s knee for leverage, to keep himself from falling clumsily against Dean’s chest, but he slides the other up Dean’s thigh, pushing his fingers beneath the leg of his boxers.

Dean breaks the kiss to say, breathily, “Just take ‘em off, come on.”

It takes some rearranging, but after a few seconds Dean is naked and Sam has resituated them to lie flat on the bed rather than propped up against the headboard. They’re each on their side, Sam with one arm pinned beneath Dean’s neck and Dean with his leg hooked over Sam’s hip, pulling their bodies close enough so that they can grind together, rubbing their hard cocks against each other’s bellies. 

“I know I don’t say it,” Dean whispers between gasps, “but I… I feel the same way. You know that, right?”

Sam thinks of the little wooden amulet, the prop Marie convinced Dean to take as a replacement for the pendant Sam gave him so many years ago. It hangs from the impala’s rearview mirror now, perfectly displayed between them and the open road. Marie called it a symbol of their brotherly love, and Sam supposes that’s true.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam replies, now remembering all the times he’d seen that amulet hanging around Dean’s neck. Most of their lives, really. “I know.”

He slips his free hand between them and wraps his long fingers around both of their cocks, pressed tight together now that Dean has caught on to Sam’s intentions and stopped thrusting. Sam strokes while Dean tries—and fails—to keep himself still, and when Dean gets close, his breath catching for long seconds as he forgets to breathe, Sam tilts his head and slots their mouths together, kissing him through his orgasm.

With Dean’s come slicking his hand, Sam finishes himself off quickly and shoots against Dean’s hip. He wipes his hand there as well, then says, “Maybe should’ve waited on the showers.”

Dean, for once in his life, doesn’t run off to the bathroom immediately to scrub himself clean. “Eh,” he says. “We’ll wash up tomorrow.”

Sam takes advantage of this rare opportunity to cuddle and folds his arms around Dean, forcing their bodies into full contact. Dean doesn’t even flinch at the wet squelch of come between them. Sam chooses to interpret this as willing to go another round before they wipe up their mess and sleep.

Dean, his cheek pillowed on Sam’s arm and his face too close to Sam’s to be clearly visible, says, “Thanks for… you know.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. He means it. There’s too much to be put into words.

“Love you, Sammy.”

Sam smiles. “Love you too, Dean.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
